


The Hawk's Wings

by Marsbarss



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Disabled Character, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Human Experimentation, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Wingfic, description of panic attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-31 18:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17855027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsbarss/pseuds/Marsbarss
Summary: No rest for the wicked, evidently. Did it always have to be fucking mad scientists? Clint was feeling extremely stupid for getting captured in the first place, but of course his captors had to turn out to be some weird group of mad scientists who wanted to stick him with needles. No thanks. Half of New York, most world leaders, and the entire country of Croatia already wanted to stick him with knives and string him up. He would really, really rather that happen that these goons in their stupid scrubs do...whatever it was they were planning to ultimately. He actually didn’t know what they wanted with him in particular besides to enact their experiments. Considering they didn’t seem to know who he was. They thought he was just some random civilian they lifted off of the streets while he stumbled down the sidewalk last night, or was it a few nights ago? He was drugged most of it, or he might be able to tell. Little did they know this guy was Hawkeye, which meant an angry Cap, and an even angrier Hulk would kick their asses. Probably. Did the team even know he was missing yet? Oh, god.





	1. It's Always Mad Scientists

No rest for the wicked, evidently. Did it always have to be fucking mad scientists? Clint was feeling extremely stupid for getting captured in the first place, but of course his captors had to turn out to be some weird group of mad scientists who wanted to stick him with needles. No thanks. Half of New York, most world leaders, and the entire country of Croatia already wanted to stick him with knives and string him up. He would really, really rather that happen that these goons in their stupid scrubs do...whatever it was they were planning to ultimately. He actually didn’t know what they wanted with him in particular besides to enact their experiments. Considering they didn’t seem to know who he was. They thought he was just some random civilian they lifted off of the streets while he stumbled down the sidewalk last night, or was it a few nights ago? He was drugged most of it, or he might be able to tell. Little did they know this guy was Hawkeye, which meant an angry Cap, and an even angrier Hulk would kick their asses. Probably. Did the team even know he was missing yet? Oh, god. 

Clint was lying naked, face down,on an operating table, strapped down with thick leather restraints, currently. What seemed like the boss man, some guy with a super gnarly mustache and glasses was giving instruction to a group of scientists. Glasses-Mustache man nodded and soon Clint felt really fuzzy. Oh, that must be the drugs! They drugged him, that was nice. He thought they were just gonna cut him open or something with nothing for the pain. What kind dudes. Nighty-night time.

 

 

Rewind:

It was a pretty unassuming night, when the bullshit started. Clint was walking back to his apartment in Bud-Stuy, yes, walking, because his car broke down. Lucky him, right?

He was a little bit out of it after a long series of missions with what seemed like every hero in New York. Because apparently everyone needed an archer this week, and that meant everyone from Coulson to Stark to Kate on the West coast, to fucking Danny motherfucking Rand. Seriously, a team up with Iron Fist hadn’t even been on the agenda but hey when a villain throws you on top of the dude’s car, what are you to do? He’s pretty handy in a fight, at least.

Anyway, Clint was exhausted and it was nearly midnight. He had his aides in, at least, though they didn’t help much. He didn’t have his bow, since it got broken. Stupid super villains. He had stipped out of his tac gear already while he was trapped in medical getting stitches. Nat made him change. 

His back was slouched, his shoulders forward, his eyes heavy and his neck aching when a white van pulled up across the street. He really should have noticed it. Should have noticed the rifle pointed at him and noticed before it shot him, with what turned out to be a tranq.

“Awh, tranq, no..” The archer stared dumbfoundedly at the little dart that he pulled out of his neck. 

He hit the sidewalk hard and was rushed by a group of men in a moment, and things went dark.

When he woke up he was sore as hell, definitely not in his bedroom, and in a small cell wearing nothing but his bright purple briefs. His hearing aides had been taken. Fuck.

Clint immediately took inventory of his surroundings. He was in a plain white space, there were five other cells, each holding a prisoner. They looked like normal dudes(Ft. one dudette, a pretty scared looking young woman), no one Clint recognized. He deduced they must just be kidnapping normal people, then. Not superheroes or something. The space was illuminated by bright LED lights, and had pretty complicated doors, needing cards or fingerprint scans for access, most likely. They were heavy steel, and a sign above one read ‘Laboratory A’. He shifted around in the meager space and got a better view at the other prisoners. They all seemed terrified, eyes wide and stipped down to nothing but underwear like him. Clint frowned, tapping his fingers against the bars of his small cell. He didn’t like not having his aides in, but he’d have to make do without them for now.

Clint wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing to him so far, or what was being planned to do to him. He just really was pissed that they snatched him from the sidewalk like a piece of trash, when he had very important things to do like fletch arrows and eat the pizza in his fridge, and sleep. Oh, god, sleep.

It began to make itself very evident very fast that this wasn’t a normal kidnapping, if the men in lab coats who walked in were anything to go by.

Some time passed.

He still didn’t know much.

What he did know, though, is that he was able to decipher something about the ‘failed experiments’. Or it could have been ‘faked asparagus’, who knows. Maybe he was hallucinating.

Dead, deformed, half animal creations, apparently, from what he saw in passing within other cages or being disposed of by the lab workers. He saw them take other prisoners away, for them to return shaking and looking different, half animal, in various states. The young woman came back one day, covered in these shiny and sickeningly pretty gold scales, her fingers webbed and her hair gone, replaced by a mohawk like fin. It was some pretty freaky shit.

 

The other subjects weren’t “compatible” or whatever, it seemed like with the serum they used. So, they were trying to make hybrids? Mutant human-animals? To what end? Because it was fun, maybe. Some people found sick shit like that fun. Maybe they wanted to manufacture superheroes or super weapons like toys or some shit. He could see how half animal-things could be useful in certain ways. Maybe half shark body guards, or something. That’d be cool actually. Or like, a bouncer at a club who was part bear so like, all the stupid people fucked off. 

What he also knew was that they had been injecting him with..something, twice a day. He assumed it was whatever he’d seen them inject into other prisoners there. It wasn’t a painkiller or any sort of sedative or nutrients. He had fought the first few times when they tried to inject him, broke one of the scientist’s jaw and gave others black eyes or nasty bite marks. They began drugging him before injecting the mixture. 

Then a thought occurred(That was really, duh! Hello! Of course!) that made Clint’s blood run cold. That’s what they meant to do to him...Shit. Clint squirmed where he sat in the small cell...really a cage... they had locked him in between tests and poking of needles. The injections... Who knew what it did, was it what caused the hybrids? Changed the DNA of the subjects? He really needed to escape.

He hadn’t worried about escaping early on, thinking that hell, this would be the typical routine kidnapping and his captors would slip up and Clint would slip out, but things got worse and worse every minute. If his estimations were right, Clint didn’t have long before they came by for him again. It was a very regulated, scheduled kidnapping evidently. They came for him about the same time but so far, it was mostly uneventful besides the poking of needles.

When he was first taken there, there had been a handful of other cages of prisoners at various stages of mad-science fuckery. They all were dead by now, either died foaming at the mouth due to whatever they were injected with, went crazy and had to be put down, or simply didn’t come back after being taken from their cages. Except for the young woman, now in covered in dazzling golden scales. She was there, in the cell farthest from Clint’s, looking sad and desperate and god Clint wanted to tear these fuckers apart after looking at her empty, horrified, and traumatized expression just once. She couldn’t have even been old enough to be out of college, yet. She was so young and had her whole life ahead of her, and these scientists fucked that up. He made a promise to himself to try and get her out of there, if it was the last thing he did. And it very well could be the last thing he ever did. 

Over the course of the last few injections, Clint noticed he began to feel restless, odd, woozy, and his back was horribly itchy around his shoulder blades. He also noticed the skin there was irritated, cracking and burning. There were bumps protruding from the spot where it hurt the most, directly over his shoulder blades.

Clint could tell this time was different, when they finally came for him. 

 

 

Back to the Present: 

The scientists observed the newest subject’s back with extreme awe and caution. They hadn’t attempted something quite like this yet. Avian hybrids were a unique challenge due to the sheer differences between mammals and birds. Yet, the subject seemed to be responding well to the injections thus far. 

The head scientist prodded the bumps on the man’s back with gloved hands, noting the cracked skin and the boney feeling beneath the bumps. He nodded. 

“Subject seems to be responding well to the new growths, we will continue the operation to open the back so that the wings may come in unhindered. If estimations are correct, their growth shall be swift.” He said, his voice having a distinctly German lilt to it. 

 

Using a marker to denote where they would make the incisions, the doctors got to work. 

Many of their past subjects’ bodies had rejected the injections of the serums, few made it to this stage of development. This man was a special case, though he was deaf, which was a tad disappointing and very curious to the head scientist. If it could be corrected, this one would make an excellent soldier, as he appeared to already be an athlete if his body was anything to go by. Nice muscles, toned and trained. He was a bit old, but in perfect shape and with a healthy metabolism. 

The incisions were made, cutting through the soft and sensitive tissue over the bumps on the shoulder blades. The skin was cut away and the doctor gently pulled what looked like the wings of a baby bird, except scaled up, through. Around the head scientist, the other doctors muttered in awe at the sight. Soon, the wings would grow larger and fill out with feathers matching the subject’s hair color, if their hypothesis was correct. Only time would tell. 

The area around the incisions was cleaned up and treated, and soon they were hauling their newest subject back to his cell, placing him on the meager bed on his stomach, injecting him with another dose of the avian hybrid serum. 

Clint awoke some time after the drugs wore off, maybe an hour later, to searing pain in his back. He yelped as he tried to move, any movement of his spine sending shocks of pain through his body. He groaned and slowly, gritting his teeth through the pain, managed to push himself up into a sitting position. He didn’t dare lay on his back. He heaved in breaths, blue eyes darting around the space with paranoia. With some trepidation he attempted to reach a hand behind his back to feel the offending area. He froze as his hands came into contact with ...something. 

An appendage, covered in what felt like soft downy feathers, just big enough that he felt the weight on his back. What. The. Fuck.

“Oh come on! Wings! Really!” He must have yelled that out loud, because the young girl in the other cage startled and stared at him with wide eyes. He stopped, “Sorry.” He gritted his teeth, gently touching the soft feathers on his baby wings. It was an odd feeling, and the irony that he, Hawkeye, was being given wings, did not escape him. Oh if only the poor saps knew who he was, that would be kind of hilarious. 

He chuckled and curiously, tried to move the wings. He found that he could, though it hurt like an utter bitch and had him crying out in pain. Bad idea, then. 

Hours and days passed and the wings continued to grow, the soft downy feathers shedding and newer, larger, gold feathers taking their place as the wings grew in size. Clint’s mind was left clearer now, though he was given something for the growing pains so that he could sleep. He measured five days before the wings were at their full size, and barely fit in the cage anymore. They were heavy, and threw off the archer’s balance. The darker outer feathers were a little bit more brown than the inner feathers, which faded into a cream tone at the lighter secondary feathers. They were beautiful, all things considered. Clint stared at them a lot, holding them in front of himself and glowering at the stupid, pretty things. The doctors stared at them a lot, too. Glasses-mustache man came by a lot to monologue and they ran all sorts of tests on him. 

He figured he’d been captive for at most two weeks, by now. He really needed an opening to escape. 

His opening came one day when a young faced guard came with his dinner. The guard stared at his wings. Clint noted that this boy was different than the one from previous times. New shifts? He could use this. Clint didn’t know how large this facility was but he figured it was underground, if it took this long and no one was able to find him. Probably in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, too. Anywhere but Iowa, hopefully. They seemed to be some offshoot of hydra, from the dated German style mustaches and the very obvious hydra symbols on some of the machines in the lab. They were way out of the loop if they didn’t figure out who he was yet, which they definitely didn’t seem to have. That was his advantage. 

Clint stood up, as much as he could in the cage, and when the boy was close enough, shoved his hand through the bars, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed his head into the bars, swiping the card-key to the cage. Really, it was their fault for not investing in better security measures. Just a normal cell wouldn't stop a Hawkeye. Maybe a normal person, sure. But Clint was far from normal. He was out of his cell in a moment, snatching a pistol from the guard’s hip, and throwing the poor unassuming guard in behind him and locking it. He stumbled a bit under the weight of the wings, taking a few uncertain steps. Clint steeled himself and jogged down the room, to the cage holding the golden-scaled woman. He opened the cage and smiled at her, a big, lopsided grin. She stared back with wide eyes. 

“Come on, let get out of here.” Then, he added, while gesturing to his ears. “Deaf, no questions, jus’ follow my lead.” He took her hand, small, gold, and..clawed, and headed to the other of the two doors, which led to a hallway. 

Clint, normally the well trained spy, was having a hard time being subtle or sneaky with these wings. While he expected some trouble getting out, he really didn’t anticipate how much of a handicap the wings would be. He needed to adjust to them, and fast if he wanted to get the two of them out alive.

They didn’t get far before alarms were blaring and every person in the facility was alerted. 

“Awh, alarms, no.” Clint whined under his breath, eyes scanning the corridor. They had come to a halt at a T-junction, and after a little mini debate with himself, he led the woman down the right corridor…

Right into a group of guards. He shoved her behind an engaged column and leapt into action. He shot the first guard to lift his own pistol, while a second guard charged him. He dodged a strike and rebounded with a pistol whip, knocking the guard out. His gun was aimed and a bullet through the third before the sap could get within range to smack him with that electric baton. 

“Come on!” He and the woman were on the move again, and he realised he didn’t know her name, not that asking would do any good when he couldn’t hear her. She didn’t seem to know sign language, and even if she did, they didn’t have time for that. Time was as limited as Fury’s temper. 

If Clint could have picked any moment for a Hulk to come smashing through the ceiling, now would be a good time. Clint really hated working with prison break like situations. They were high stress, high risk, and most likely to fail. Plus, he had a civilian to protect too, which made things a nightmare on crack. 

Hulk or no Hulk, Clint didn’t plan on failing this mission. He kept his eyes on the proverbial prize, leading the girl through corridors, through coded doors, and eventually, to a flight of stairs. Up either got them to a roof, or to the surface. Since it didn’t seem like windows were a thought in this place, he assumed surface. 

They were caught between a rock and a hard place by the second flight of stairs. The woman was weak, exhausted. She definitely wasn’t suited to high stress situations or athleticism. He had to pick her up and continue with her in his arms. Thankfully she was lighter than his normal gear. Unfortunately, this meant he was a little less prepared to be stopped by a group of armed guards halfway up the third flight of stairs. Shit.

He shifted her into one arm, shielded her with his wing, and stuck his tongue out at the guards above him. Below him, he saw a group clambering up the stairs through the corner of his eye. Well, this just couldn’t get worse! 

Clint sucked in a breath and smirked. “This th’ best you got?” He taunted and began running, two steps at a time, up towards the guards above. He emptied two rounds into the first two, before they could pull the trigger. Clint despised using guns, but hey, he couldn’t complain about using one in this situation. He needed to adapt. The third, he punched, and the poor fucker took it like a champ and crumbled to the ground. By then, the other guards were approaching fast. 

Clint grunted when a bullet grazed his side, whipping around. He grabbed the guard he previously punched and shoved him down at the other three. He turned and ran as fast as he could up the remaining stairs and through a door. He set the woman down and broke the controls, sealing this door. He panted and looked around, though it seemed they were in the clear for the moment. Thinking fast, he scooped the scaled woman into his arms again and began running once more, his wings folded into his back. He took another right, a left, headed straight down a long corridor, and took another right. 

He came upon another stairwell and took it up, avoiding as many guards as he could. The duo found themselves in a hangar. An empty hangar, as it was. Awh. He could have easily flown a jet to safety or something. The hangar was probably just for show, to hide the base, anyway. 

Clint didn’t stop for longer than a second, running for the doors of the hangar and once he was out, he kept running. He looked for any sort of cover- none, of course. It was a fucking corn field. Goddammit, they were in Iowa, weren’t they? He huffed. He had no way to tell where the hell they were exactly. A bird’s eye view might help...Aha!

“Gonna try somethin’ trust me, okay?” 

The woman nodded and Clint breathed in, flexing his wings. He shifted her onto his back, careful of his wings, and clambered onto the top of the hangar. He sucked in a breath, took the girl in his arms again, and hoped to whatever god wanted to listen that this worked. With a running start, he leapt off of the hangar, catching the air with his wings outstretched.

The woman screamed and squeezed her eyes shut, Clint kept his wide open and willed himself to succeed. It was just like shooting! Except nothing like shooting! And terrifying! He breathed in and flapped his wings, and sure enough, he managed to keep them up. He began to laugh after a moment. 

The woman opened her eyes slowly and looked around and then up at Clint in awe. Clint smiled back. “We’re gon’ be okay.” He promised.

 

 

It was dark before long.

Clint soared above miles of desolate farm land, and he couldn’t help but feel really fucking alive. Sure, he was still in just his underwear, everything hurt, and he had been experimented on but this was fucking cool. He could definitely get used to flying. But, first thing’s first, he needed to find clothes for himself and the girl, and then find a way to contact anyone. Kate, the Avengers, Nat, Coulson. Someone. 

About twenty minutes later Clint spotted a small town in the distance and realised he had no idea how to land. He sucked it up and decided to just go for it, angling them downward and managing to only scraped his knees. He set the woman down and smiled at her, lifting up a fist. She touched hers to his in solidarity and looked around. She seemed self conscious, covering her body as best she could with her scaled arms. Clint frowned and looked around. They were still a few yards from the town. Clint searched for anything they could cover themselves with. He spotted a clothesline in a yard of a small house not far off and very stealthily swiped a big coat for the young woman, and a pair of pants for himself. And some socks for both of them. He wasn’t even going to bother with a shirt. 

Dressed, Clint led the way into the town and really fucking hoped the people wouldn't chase them out with torches and pitchforks. 

They found a small diner on the main road and shuffled into it. The lone waitress working stared at them with wide eyes and Clint smiled back. 

“Uh hi, I’m deaf, we’re lost. Help?” He hoped his words came out right, they never seemed to when he couldn’t hear his own voice.

The young woman said something, though Clint didn’t catch it since he could only see part of her face. 

While the waitress headed into the back, Clint and the woman sat in a booth. The waitress returned a few minutes later with two glasses of water, a pen, and paper. She handed the pen and paper to the woman.

The woman thanked the waitress and scribbled something down while Clint gulped down his water. She showed him a minute later. 

‘My name is Serena, what’s yours?’

“Clint.” He replied, out loud. 

‘Nice to meet you, Clint. Thank you for saving me.’

“ ‘S no problem, ‘s my job, savin’ people.”

‘What’s your job?’

 

“I’m Hawkeye.” He grinned, a glint in his eye. He shifted his wings behind him. God, that was still weird. 

Her eyes widened and she visibly seemed to understand things a bit more. 

‘That explains a lot.’

“Hey...could make a phone call for me?”

A while later, a little but warmer and using the phone at the diner, Serena called the number Clint had written down. It was for the Tony Stark, which was a little bit intimidating for the scaled girl. He wrote down what she should say and they got the name of the town and state from the waitress. Clint didn’t have her say much about what had happened to them. Too much to explain, too bizarre and painful for Serena. He had her mention “Offshoot a’ Hydra doin’ human experiments”, and that was all about that. Tony said they’d be there by the morning. Clint visibly relaxed but then wondered where the hell they would stay that night.

Turns out the townsfolk weren’t the torches and pitchfork type and one of them put the two up for the night, fed them, got them shoes, and let them shower. Clint didn’t sleep that night. A jet had touched down not far from the town not long after dawn, and Clint ushered Serena to the waiting Avengers (Plus Coulson, and Kate).

Clint smiled sheepishly at the group at the various shocked looks he was given, when they saw the large, golden wings on his back. Mostly though, they all seemed relieved that he wasn’t dead. Thor pulled him into a bone crushing hug and Bruce seemed like he might burst if Clint hadn’t been unharmed. 

“Heyyyy guys.”

Natasha thrust a container at him, which Clint graciously accepted. He put the hearing aides in his ears and switched them on. It felt a little odd, but he had gone two weeks without them, so that was expected. “Oh, sweet sound, Nat oh how I’ve missed your voice.” Clint moaned, earning an eye roll from the ginger assassin. 

“Yes yes we’ve missed you too, you idiot. What the hell did you get yourself into this time?” 

“Evil scientists doin’ weird human experimentation bullshit, think th’y’re Hydra. Maybe. Glasses-mustache guy just seemed the type. Oh! This is Serena, she’s a sweetheart. From Nebraska. Help her out, guys?” 

Coulson got Serena situated, checking her to make sure her condition was stable, taking her back to the base to be monitored for a time before they would take her home. The Avengers were left with a new enemy to payback for what they did to their teammate. Investigations would need to be done first, find out motive and identities of the figures in charge. It would be a process until justice was served. 

Clint was just happy to be back with his family. He smiled and wavered on his feet, his legs giving out beneath him. He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name as he blacked out.


	2. Fuck These Things are Heavy

The shock finally set in as soon as Clint had seen his friends, his family.

He fell to the ground, limbs like lead and in a heap. He wasn’t sure what time it was when he awoke, or where he was for a moment before his eyes adjusted to the lighting of the room. Clean, white sheets, awful plain decor, stupid rails on the bed. The medbay. Fuck. Was that necessary? It wasn’t like he was majorly hurt. 

Clint shifted in bed, his head throbbing, noting his aids had been taken out. They were probably in the case on the bedside table if he bothered to look. He didn’t, instead lifting a shaky hand to thread to his hair. Why did his back hurt again? 

He moved to sit up and shocked his brain into remembering, the golden feathers draped around him, the large wings hardly fitting in the bed.

It took him a moment to register Natasha thrusting his hearing aid’s case at him, he grumbled as he snatched up and looped the bright purple devices over his ears, turning them on. 

“Can I jus’ go back to sleep or am I ‘bout to be ambushed by th’ team an’ doctors?” He slurred, glancing at the door, before looking back at Natasha.

“Ambush is inevitable, they’ve been checking in every half our, in rounds. It’s kind of cute, actually. They were all worried, Clint.” Natasha said, with an edge of affection and worry pushed into how she said his name that only he recognized.

“Awh, Nat, is that concern in your voice I hear?” He cooed out, a smile gracing his lips. Which were chapped, by the way. His throat was sore and dry and his lips practically felt like that one time he was stuck in the sahara desert. “’m touched, I knew you loved me.”

He was met with an eye roll and a light chuckle, a big gesture, to Clint. He smiled wider and shifted a little bit more, looking at the golden feathers and stretching one wing a bit, feeling the soreness of muscles and the heavy pull of the wings. The rest of the Avengers chose that moment to pile in, a flurry of concerned faces and awed expressions.

“Glad you’re up, birdbrain, you’ve been out for a while.” Tony greeted.

“Little over two days,” Sam added helpfully, dark eyes casting a glance over the large wings. 

Filing in, Tony and Steve took spots on either side of the bed, Sam took one of the chairs, Thor grinned in Clint’s direction as he stood at the foot of the bed and Kate took the spot next to Nat looking tired and relieved and probably like she was going to yell at him or cry. Bruce mulled around by the door, eyes locked between blue eyes and golden feathers. Barnes took the last chair, hair mused and his expression stormy. He looked more wound up than any of them, probably ready to kick ass and destroy that entire facility if they hadn’t already.

It was Kate that spoke first, after sucking in a shaky breath. “You were gone for two weeks,”

“Two? Seemed longer, or shorter, couldn’ tell in there.” Clint contemplated.

“We were so worried, Clint!” Kate looked like a scared kid, if Clint was honest. He wasn’t aware his being gone would shake anyone up that much, let alone solid, strong, always sure Katie-Kate. It was a little disconcerting.

“Is Serena okay?” Clint asked automatically. Kate blinked back at him then nodded. 

“Agent Agent got her somewhere safe and they’re monitoring her condition, running tests, getting witness statements, the usual protocol.” Tony confirmed. 

“Good- Good...She’s the only one I could get out..” Clint furrowed his brow. He wasn’t even able to check if there were more victims! There were probably more cells somewhere, and more labs. If he’d had his equipemt and time, maybe…

“Were there more? We didn’t find anyone else.” Bucky’s voice was rough, and snapped Clint out of the spiral of his thoughts.

“There were at first….I think most of ‘em died if they weren’ transported somewhere else. When I woke up th’re were five others, includin’ tha woman, Serena.”

Bucky’s frown deepened impossibly, and he tensed, eyes sharp and swirling with anger. Bucky’s past was long behind him now, but it couldn’t have been a easy situation on an of the team, especially for Bucky, once learning that it was Hydra that had taken him. He could almost taste the guilt in the air, like someone could’ve prevented it if they just drove him home or something, didn’t let him insist he’d walk. 

“Awh, you guys are killin’ th’ supossed to be happy-I’m-back mood now with those faces.” 

“Clint! You were kidnapped and we didn’t know what had happened to you! Let alone who had happened to you! Then we get a call out of no where and when we get to your location-” It was Steve who spoke next, his expression as stormy as Bucky’s, if not more. His voice sounded like his throat was dry, maybe from yelling. He shook his head. “And we still don’t know how it happened or what their goal was, and you’ve been unconscious for two days,” Steve took a sharp breath. 

“Why take friend Hawkeye of all of us, though?” Thor frowned, arms crossed. Hawkeye was the most vulnerable, or at least it appeared that way to enemies. Though obviously it wasn’t bait for the Avengers, or clues would have been left. 

“I don’ think they knew who I was.” Clint shrugged. “Didn’ seem to anyway. Looked like they were jus’ grabbin; whatever random people they could off the street. An’ I looked like a random guy walking home.” 

“Barton luck strikes again.” Kate chuckled bitterly. 

“Y’know it girly girl.” Clint guffawed. “Always in th’ wrong place at th’ wrong time.” 

“You would be the person that happens to.” Bruce chuckled from where he stood, talking for the first time since the team had entered the room. “We’re just glad you’re safe, Clint.” His voice was quiet and genuine and tired in that Just-Did-Some-Major-Fucking-Smashing-As-Hulk-Within-The-Last-Twenty-Four-Hours way he always had after particularly large battles. He assumed Hulk was not happy his Cupid had been taken and hurt by those Hydra goons. Hulk was never happy when Clint got hurt. He was a protective big guy, when he liked you. 

“Some fucking luck you have, I swear, Barton.” Tony scoffed, looking the archer over with those too honest blue eyes. “Ditto, though. Don’t go getting kidnapped again any time soon, all right?”

Everyone’s gazes seemed trapped on the large golden wings, and it made Clint’s skin crawl. He spent a lot of effort making sure people didn’t stare at him or pay attention to him. Hunch his back, make himself seem smaller, cast his eyes downward, smile in that unassuming way and play dumb. It worked, and it kept him alive all these years so excuse him if all these eyes made him a little bit uncomfortable and shift in his bed like an animal trapped in a cage.

Clint laughed to relieve his own tension, less so at Tony’s fucked little attempt at humor. “All right, all right. No more gettin’ nabbed off th’ street.” Clint took a pause. “Seriously though stop with those faces! I get hurt all th’ time!” 

“You didn’t just get hurt this time, Clint!” Bucky snarled. “You were kidnapped, taken and- and fucking experimented on by Hydra.” His voice was icy. 

“‘M not special, coulda happened to any of us, I’m okay, it’s okay-”

“But it happened to you, and fuck Barton, stop fucking deflecting our god damned concern because we were fucking terrified.” 

Clint opened his mouth to speak with a rebuttal, probably something worryingly self deprecating, when Bruce cleared his throat. “We should let Clint rest, this is probably overwhelming for him.” God bless Bruce Banner, Clint thought.

Natasha was already up and quite literally dragging Bucky out of the room, a vice grip on his arm and Russian muttered under her breath. 

The rest of the team filed out, the elephant in the room left alone for now. Clint wasn’t really paying attention to anything as the team filed out but he vaguely registered Steve touching his shoulder and Kate hugging him. A moment passed and he was alone, so he thought. 

Bruce walked over to the bed and sat in the chair previously occupied by Natasha.

“Y’know, these things are fuckin’ heavy, Brucie.” Clint said through a breath and let his shoulders sag, wings draping over them.

Bruce didn’t seem in the mood to humor him, however. He looked at him with this soul-piercing gaze, hands folded in his lap but jittery. He fiddled with the hems of his sleeves, glasses drooping a little down his nose. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, maybe longer. His eyes had bags under them but that was hardly new for the brainiac. 

“Awh don’ look at me like that.” Clint frowned. 

“Clint…….”

“Nu-uh, Bruce, no.” Clint crossed his arms and swatted Bruce with his right wing.

“....Really?”

“What?”

Bruce chuckled, and Clint considered that a success. 

“The big guy wanted to tear up the whole city looking for you.”

Clint’s chest did a weird thing that he did not like. “Awh, I love th’ big green bean too.”

“Will you ever let go of that nickname?”

“Probably not.”

“I agreed with him for once..” The words hung on the tip of Bruce’s tongue, the unspoken ‘I was scared’, the ‘I missed you’. Being able to speak about feelings was not a required skill to be an Avenger, evidently.

“I was hopin’ for a Disney princess level rescue, y’know. The Shrek to my Fiona.”

“Oh my god.” Bruce slapped a hand on his face but couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Did you seriously just call me Shrek.”

“All ya need is th’ accent.” 

“Shove the accent, you rescued yourself just fine.”

“But that’s no fun! I was totally lookin’ forward to Hulk jackhammering th’ scientist guys inta dust before they injected me!”

“That makes two of us…” Bruce paused. “Injected…?”

“Whatever it was...it was a serum, or somethin’” Clint gestured vaguely to the wings. “I’m sure SHIELD is already workin’ on figurin’ out exactly what it was n’ all that. Freaky shit.” 

Bruce looked a little green again, but Clint grabbed his hand gently. Bruce let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and relaxed into the gentle touch. He focused on the room he was in intently, maybe gripping the archer a little too tightly.

“Whatever their goals were, or the origin of that particular project….what matters is you got out safe.” Bruce managed after a moment. “And that they’re shut down now.”

“I sense a but.” Clint interjected. 

“But, what they did has consequences and I’m concerned about you, Clint.”

“No need ta worry!”

“Clint.”

Clint visibly wilted, looking off to the side, focusing his clear blue eyes on the folds of the bedding. 

“I’m tryna not think about this, y’know. I don’ wanna think about these things right now.”

 

Bruce just gave a small nod of the head. “I’ll get you some coffee.” If Bruce lingered for a moment just to hold Clint’s hand before he stood, it wasn’t commented on. 

Clint watched the smaller man leave the room and mumbled something under his breath about not wanting to waste his therapists time again for something so stupid.

Bruce heard him, but he didn’t say a thing as he walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys! Inspiration doesn't like to cooperate with me. I hope you enjoy and any comments would make my day!


	3. Moments Inbetween

Clint tried really hard not to think about all of the new ways he was even more fucked up than usual. He felt damaged, awful, wrong. Non Consensual body modification can do that to a guy, and Clint was feeling the brunt of it now, alone in the plain white room. 

He clutched onto the fabric of the sheets like a lifeline, taking one breath at a time and trying to keep himself calm. It was okay, right? It was nothing. So, a serum. Whatever, evil guys did shit like that. He’d had worse in the past. Clint was a superhero, he walked into bad situations all the time. He asked for it when he took up the gig.

So what if they changed his body? They’d done worse to Bucky. They’d truly violated him. What happened to Clint wasn’t that bad. Wings? What was so bad about having wings now? He could fly. That was cool, right? It was okay. Clint didn’t really think he had any room to complain about what had happened aside from the few snarky comments he had on the room service during his stay in that stupid little cage. 

He felt worse about the woman he’d saved. She didn’t deserve that. She was some innocent thing with a family and a home and hopes and a future. Clint? He ….wasn’t that. His only future was six feet under and family for him tended to be fleeting and back stabby. He knew that when push came to shove, he wasn’t worth anyone’s trouble. Really, his only hope was that he didn’t die painfully, so he didn’t think this was that bad.

He knew everyone else had more important things to do than worry about him. He didn’t want to bother any of his teammates, and he really didn’t want to waste his therapist’s resources when that hour time slot could easily go to someone who could use it. 

So why was he shaking? Why did he want to rip the stupid things off? He shouldn’t be acting like this. He shouldn’t be upset. What right did he have? It was nothing. He was weak. It wasn’t worth the tears and the panic attack. This was stupid, he was stupid for reacting like this. Stupid, stupid stupid-

His chest was heaving, breaths coming in short gasps and his arms shaky. His knuckles were white and his fingers hurt from clutching onto the blanket, and the room was suddenly so fucking hot and everything was spinning. Clint felt like he might implode at any second, the edges of his vision blurring. He needed to get out of there- he need to be anywhere else. Why was he here? He felt trapped. He needed his bow and quiet and alone. 

“Clint- Oh my god, Clint.” It was Bruce’s voice, though it hardly registered in the archer’s brain by the time the man filled his vision. “Hey, hey. Look at me.”

“I-i, I can’t...I can’t breathe.” Clint managed to stammer out, “Fuck...fuckfuckfuck...I need to- I need out of here-” The archer hissed frantically, blue eyes darting around wildly. Bruce’s voice sounded distant, moreso than usual, and the tenor tone seemed like hardly a whisper.

“Clint, hey, no, it’s going to be all right. You can breathe, here, with me, okay?” Bruce’s voice was soft and sure, though, and it was oddly calming. 

They sat on the bed for minutes while Bruce talked Clint down. They counted breaths, Bruce’s presence stable and easy to focus on. 

The world narrowed into focus an indeterminate amount of time later. Clint was aware suddenly of the tears on his cheeks and how sore he felt, exhaustion weighing over him. 

Bruce was there still, beside him with concern in his eyes and one gentle hand in his. Clint sputtered, struggling to get any words out and let himself slump against the pillow, eyes falling shut. He gave up on speaking, yanking his hearing aids out with his other hand. He let them be placed back in the container by Bruce, and fell asleep to the feeling of the doctor’s hand, clutched against his chest. Maybe they should talk about that sometime.

The coffee was cold and forgotten about when Clint woke up, notably alone. It must have been night because all of the lights in the medbay were off. He took a deep breath and slowly lifted himself from the bed, carefully grabbing the styrofoam cup and gulping down the cold coffee. He hummed appreciatively. Any coffee was good coffee when he hadn’t had it in so long. Hot coffee would be better, though. Maybe he could get out of the medbay and up to the common room for some of the fancy coffee…

Clint shifted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and glancing around. Eyes falling on the grey sweats he was wearing, he started wondering how shirts were gonna work now. There were other winged heroes, right? Mutants, or something. Maybe they could give him tips for clothing while winged. 

Stupid wings. 

Stupid serum, stupid scientists, stupid Clint getting captured-

With a shaky breath, Clint stood and made his way from the bed, silent feet taking him from the room and out into the hall. The medbay was deserted this time of night. He headed right down the hall, avoiding main cameras though he knew Jarvis would probably alert someone pretty quickly. He had limited time. 

It seemed like a long walk to the elevator and an even longer elevator ride to the common room, and then an infinitely longer wait for the coffee machine to do its work. 

Twenty minutes came and went and Clint was camped out on the floor of the kitchen, wedged in one of the corners, the pot of coffee held to his lips as he all but chugged. He was mindful of the broad wings, wrapping them around his front and forming what he could only compare to a tent with the golden appendages. 

He was halfway through the pot when the lights flicked on and Clint froze, looking up and peeking out from behind his wings at whomever had interrupted him. 

“....Really, Clint?” Bruce’s voice was what greeted him, the doctor looking tired and disheveled in the same clothes the archer had seen him in earlier. It was…..(A quick glance at the clock) two A.M. He hadn’t changed or gone to sleep it looked like. 

“Can’t hear ya.” Clint hummed, not moving. 

And then Bruce was kneeling down in front of him, looking in at Clint from the gap left between his wings. He raised a questioning brow, with the most unamused look he could muster. 

Clint smiled back a little sheepishly, no energy to the gesture. He took another sip of the coffee, only warm now. His tongue still felt a little off from burning it via his hastiness. 

Bruce backed up a tad, bringing his hands up to sign. ‘O.K?’

Clint nodded, unfurling his wings the smallest bit so more of him was visible. “Yeah…Now. Uhm…..thanks..” 

‘Want to talk?’ Was the next question, to which Clint just shook his head. He didn’t feel like speaking or signing right now, answers cut short and his voice scratchy. 

Clint was wary when Bruce began to sign again. ‘O.K.’ Acceptance, better than any of the other stubborn, nosey bastards in the tower would grant. ‘Want c.o.m.p.a.n.y?’

The archer chewed on his lip, staring into his coffee before nodding. “Yeah.” He unfolded his wings and tucked them behind himself, rubbing his fingers against the glass of the pot in a nervous gesture. 

Bruce took the nearly empty pot from him and set it on the counter before offering Clint a hand with an oddly fond look in his eyes. 

Clint took his hand, pulling himself to his feet, nearly pulling Bruce down until the scientist braced himself. Once up, Bruce placed a hand on his elbow and led him to the couch in the room off the communal kitchen, where there were already a few blankets stacked up. Did the bastard plan this?

Bruce sat down and Clint maneuvered himself onto the couch beside him, unsure what to do with the large wings. He settled for leaning against Bruce at an angle to give his wings room. Bruce wasn’t the biggest fan of touch, but he didn’t say a thing, though Clint panicked for a moment as he remembered this, looking up to meet the other man’s gaze. He was met with a smile and a nod and Clint relaxed against him, sighing. He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep after that but he was vaguely aware of Bruce’s hand carding through his hair as he finally drifted off.


End file.
